“Hold, sailor. I only reach for my purse,” Katsa said. “You may take it from my pocket yourself, if you wish. Go on,” she said, as he hesitated. “I’ll keep my hands in the air and my friend will stand away.”

Bitterblue stood and backed up a few steps, obligingly. Katsa stood, her arms raised away from her body. The boy paused, and then reached toward her pocket. As one hand fiddled to uncover the purse, the other held the knife just below Katsa’s throat. She thought she ought to appear nervous. Yet another reason to be grateful for the darkness that made her face unreadable.

Her purse finally in hand, the boy backed up a step or two. He opened it and shook a few gold pieces into his palm. He inspected the coins in the moonlight, and then in the firelight glimmering dimly from shore.

“This is Lienid gold,” he said. “Not only are you thieves, but you’re thieves who’ve stolen from Lienid men.”

“Take us to your captain and let him decide whether to accept our gold. If you do so, a piece of it’s yours—regardless of what he chooses.”

The boy considered the offer, and Katsa waited. Truly, it didn’t matter if he agreed to their terms or not, for they wouldn’t find a ship better suited to their purposes than this one. Katsa would get them aboard one way or another, even if she had to clunk this boy on the head and drag him up the gangplank, waving Po’s ring before the noses of the guards.

“All right,” the boy said. He chose a coin from the pile in his palm and tucked it inside his coat. “I’ll take you to Captain Faun for a piece of gold. But I warrant you’ll find yourself thrown into the brig for thievery. She won’t believe you came upon this honestly, and we don’t have time to report you to the authorities in the city.”

The word had not escaped Katsa’s attention. “She? Your captain is a woman?”

“A woman,” the boy said, “and Graced.”

A woman and Graced. Katsa didn’t know which should surprise her more. “Is this a ship of the king, then?”

“It’s her ship.”

“How—”

“The Graced in Lienid are free. The king doesn’t own them.”

Yes, she remembered that Po had explained this.

“Are you coming,” the boy said, “or are we going to stand here conversing?”

“What’s her Grace?”

The boy stepped aside and waved them forward with his knife. “Go on,” he said. And so Katsa and Bitterblue moved up the dock, but Katsa listened for his answer. If this captain was a mind reader, or even a very competent fighter, she wanted to know before they reached the guards so she could decide whether to continue forward or shove this boy into the water and run.

Ahead of them, the guards spoke to each other and laughed at some joke. One of them held a torch. The flame strained against the wind and flashed across their rough faces, their broad chests, their unsheathed swords. Bitterblue gasped, ever so slightly, and Katsa shifted her attention to the child. Bitterblue was frightened. Katsa laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder and squeezed.